Skeletons in her Closet
by save me san francisco
Summary: Bit of an insight into Lisbon's experience of childhood. i.e. Why is she afraid of closets? Jane is there to listen, and comfort. Little bit out of character as she opens up a lot, but give it a read and see. Oneshot. Reviews make me oh so happy!


**A/N: okay, I kinda dreamt this sort of scenario for finding out more about the "skeletons in Lisbon's closet" if you will. (I thought that pun was pretty amazing, I hope you didn't cringe.) For some reason, my unconscious imagination is fantastically better than my conscious. So if I ever become a writer… I guess I'll just have to sleep on the job; pity!**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy, even if you don't please review constructively - it's the only way I'll learn!**

**Disclaimer: Please, please, PLEASE can I own the Mentalist? No? Ah well, back to the fanfic it is. One day you'll want my sleeping brain, Bruno.**

It had been a miserable day, in many senses. It was the dark and dreary sort of winter's day - the kind that occurs in the early beginnings of a new year, but long past the celebrations of Christmas or New Years. It was around the time when the weather no longer symbolised such joyous occasions, and simply became a chore to trudge through between your car and the warm familiarity of the CBI building.

Such as had been for what felt like months now, there was an intense blizzard beating at the windows, and the sky was almost completely black, despite the day barely dipping into the hours of the evening.

Patrick Jane lay back on his couch; it was situated beside the only radiator in the bullring, and so he remained comfortably snug, whilst the rest of the team shivered as they started to shuffle together their paperwork, bracing themselves for the imminent venture into the storm outside.

Soon, the team and most of the other agents working at the CBI had braved their way to their cars, and so it seemed that only Lisbon and Jane remained. Lisbon, because she had lost track of time, so immersed in her work, and Jane…well, because he enjoyed watching Lisbon work, not that he would ever admit it. Besides, he had nowhere else to be, and neither did she.

He decided to migrate to the couch in her office, to provide company of course. No ulterior motive of observation, whatsoever.

Another twenty minutes or so passed, as he watched the utter concentration on her face, and noted the fascinating contrast of her surprisingly dark hair against the pale, creamy tone of her skin, as she tucked a loose strand neatly behind her ear. He knew these thoughts were dangerous, and forbidden, but his mind had wandered to such territories increasingly more often recently, and he had no desire to restrain his thoughts.

With a tilted head, the concentration turned to puzzlement, as she looked up at Jane. He felt that her eyes pierced him, and for a moment, became irrationally frantic at the possibility she was somehow aware of his musings.

"Do you know where the Johnston file is?"

He calmed. "Er, isn't that still an open case?"

Realisation dawned on her. Closed cases were kept in the closed case archive, a giant room situated under the CBI offices, and she had not been able to locate the Johnston case on the archive system from her computer. The case had not been closed - they knew the identity of the killer, but could never pin him with enough evidence, therefore the case had been left with an "open" status. Open cases were very few, and therefore kept in a small, secure storage facility. Basically, a closet, with safe-like qualities.

She smiled gratefully at him for his assistance, and rose to make her way to the open case storage closet. Jane heaved himself off the couch to follow her, and she thought nothing of it - she was used to his company and strange mannerisms.

Once she had entered the many pass codes to obtain entry to the open cases, she swung open the heavy door to reveal the blackness of the steel closet's innards. She recoiled, much to Jane's surprise.

Here was a woman who faced death and murderers on a daily basis, and she was afraid of the dark?

She took in a sharp breath, and surprised Jane further.

"Would you be able to go get it for me?" She tried to ask as casually as she could, but there was no fooling Jane, who was eager to probe her further.

"Nahh, I'm not too fond of the dark. I'll come with you though." He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, and then glanced nervously into the closet before quickly stepping inside, as if it was before she could change her mind. Jane swiftly followed, and immediately began searching for the light switch he knew was situated discretely beside the heavy metal door.

Suddenly, a loud, dangerous sounding buzz emitted from the door. It made both Jane and Lisbon start with a fright, and the sound continued to throb like a siren.

"What did you do?"

Jane had accidentally hit the security panic button. "Oops…" he mumbled, as the door slid shut with a loud thud.

He quickly found the correct switch, but once the small space was illuminated, Jane was surprised to find that Lisbon did not look any more at ease.

"Are you okay, Lisbon?" He asked, concerned.

She was breathing heavily, although obviously trying to conceal it.

"Yes, fine…I'm just…not really a fan of closets." She swallowed. "And we're stuck. The only way out is with a pass code entered on that side of the door."

Their minds raced frantically, there was no way anyone would find them until morning - they didn't have either of their cell phones with them, and even if they had, who could reach them in such conditions?

They bickered for a good couple of hours about the situation before they both became exhausted, and Lisbon slumped against one cold, steel wall in defeat, trying to stay calm.

Jane sat against the opposite wall, watching her as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out where she was.

"Why don't you like closets, Lisbon?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Do I need a reason?"

"Well, yeah - I know lots of people are claustrophobic, but you specifically said that you weren't a fan of _closets_. That's unusual, and therefore there's a reason for your irrational dislike of them."

She stayed quiet for a few moments, which felt like forever to Jane. Just when he thought that she wasn't going to respond to his evidently accurate observation, she spoke, in the most miniscule voice, which he wasn't entirely sure he would have heard had he not been paying such close attention to her.

"I managed to get stuck in a closet as a child."

He watched her carefully, and his mentalist capabilities saw the words that her body language portrayed - he saw the truth he knew she would never willingly speak.

"It wasn't your fault, was it?"

She snapped her head up, and looked at him curiously. "What?"

"You didn't get yourself stuck, did you? Someone locked you in."

She gaped at him, eyes wide. Jane knew he was right, and continued.

"Your father?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor. Again, correct.

She spoke again with the softest and tiniest of voices, as if a gentle tone would make the truth seem less horrifying. It just made it all the more haunting for Jane.

"He'd get mad at one of the boys, and I'd try to calm him down. He never knew what he was doing; he was so far out of it. I'd try to explain, but he would never listen. Once he lashed out, he couldn't stop, his eyes would go…empty. He didn't see me as _me _anymore. He would hit, and punch and kick until he tired. If I cried, or screamed, it would make him furious."

Jane felt a lump in his throat.

"Furious?" He squeaked.

"It started one time, some kids from school had stolen Tommy's bike from school. He got real mad at him, and raised his hand to hit him. I told Tommy to run, and I tried to calm Dad down. He just looked at me…but not, _at me. _It was as if he looked straight through me. That was the time it started to get really bad. He beat me for ages, the bike had been expensive. I later found out he broke three of my ribs. I cried with the pain, I tried not to - it just hurt so much."

Her green eyes were glassy with unshed tears, as she continued to stare at nothing, seeing the livid face of her father in her memories.

"He didn't like it when I cried, he screamed at me to stop, but that made me worse. He needed to shut me up, so he dragged me into the hallway closet, and locked me in so he couldn't hear me anymore."

Jane's stomach churned at the thought of a desperate young Lisbon, trapped and injured.

"How long were you kept in there?" He asked quietly.

"Depends. It became a routine - that first time it was just one night, but there were times when it was days and others when it was just an hour."

Her eyes changed. There was more, Jane could tell, but what more could a soul bear?

"Lisbon…what else?"

She sighed sullenly. She already bore her heart and soul to this man, there was just something about him that made her want him to know all about her, to hold her and to reassure her that it wasn't her fault like her father had told her it was.

"Being inside the closet was not the worst part. It was actually the most bearable. The reason I hated it, was because I knew what was going to happen once the door opened again."

Jane swooped over to her, and took her face in his hands to look into her eyes.

"…No."

A feeling of dread swept through him. No, a father could not do such a thing to his daughter. Physical and metal abuse was heartbreaking enough; surely the man did not extend to such perverse, disgusting, evil…

Lisbon interrupted his thoughts by nodding, avoiding the intensity of his gaze.

Jane was, for once, completely silent, as he felt a tear slide over one of his fingers that still rested on her soft cheek. It was unclear whose tear it was, as they both shared a moment of emotion. Neither was sure what the moment exactly was, or meant.

To Lisbon, it was relief at finally revealing one of her deepest, darkest secrets to someone, especially that someone being Jane.

To Jane, it was sympathy, and fury, and almost inward anger at his irrational inability to prevent her from experiencing such trauma.

Either way, neither felt it odd, nor the need to address the situation when Jane slipped his suit jacket over her shivering shoulders, and lightly pressed his lips to her forehead.

They sat silently for the rest of the night, Lisbon resting against Jane's chest, his arms around her tightly. As she fell asleep into the crook of his shoulder, he gently wiped the drying tears from her face, and he silently vowed to protect her, and never give her cause to shed another single tear again. Too many tears had already stained her beautiful face, and not one more would do. For every day more she would have him, he would make her smile, and eventually heal the pain of her past, just as she had healed his.


End file.
